


Show Me

by beepbeepsan



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Crew of the Wani, No Slash, Zuko (Avatar)-centric, Zuko and Crew, Zuko is an Angsty Turtleduck, Zuko is an Awkward Turtleduck, did fans just collectively decide Zuko's ship was called the Wani, the wani
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:20:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25028383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beepbeepsan/pseuds/beepbeepsan
Summary: "Show me," he would say. He would tap his foot impatiently at any hesitation, glaring up at you. You would try too hard to avoid looking at the scar splashed across his face.Freshly banished, Zuko makes his reluctant crew show him how things work on the ship (and in life?).
Relationships: Jee & Zuko (Avatar), Zuko & Zuko's Crew (Avatar)
Comments: 162
Kudos: 747
Collections: The Best of Zuko





	1. Chapter 1

The crew didn’t know much about Prince Zuko. The royalty and nobles as good as lived in another world from the common people; _everyone_ knew the crown prince’s name, but beyond that was mostly speculation for all but the highest tiers of society. 

The crew of the _Wani_ was not exactly resplendent with nobility. Pieced together from demoted officers and unlucky navy men, they were a ragtag group. The best that a banished prince could hope for. Or rather, the best that the crew members themselves thought a banished prince could hope for—no one knew what the prince in question thought about the situation. And the crew certainly knew enough about royalty in general to know _not_ to ask. 

So no one was sure what to expect when they set sail for the first time. The prince was presumably on board, though no one saw him for a few weeks. The esteemed General Iroh was similarly rarely seen at first, spending most of his time in the prince’s quarters or speaking with the ship’s doctor. 

The crew then made an amateur mistake: they began to relax. _Maybe this gig won’t be so bad_ , they thought. _Maybe we’ll just sail around and bow when the royals walk by and otherwise get to stay out of trouble._ Then the prince emerged and dashed their hopes. 

When Prince Zuko suddenly made his first appearance on deck, the sight of him startled the blazes out of nearby crewmen. They stared at him, frozen, for several seconds before remembering themselves and saluting clumsily. The young prince’s face was still half-bandaged, and the visible side was clenched tightly in pain. General Iroh hovered just behind him, clearly worried. 

“There is no hurry,” the general was saying. “You should rest more before worrying about our route.” 

“There is no time to waste, Uncle!” The prince snapped in return. “I have wasted far too much already. We need to set a deliberate course if we’re going to find him. Where are we now?” He spotted Lieutenant Jee, the ship’s highest commanding officer, standing by the rail at the stern. 

“Show me,” were Prince Zuko’s first words to Jee. Quite rudely spoken, too. 

“Sir?” Jee said. Not the best first words back, admittedly, though at least he’d managed a proper salute. 

“Show me where we are right now! On a map!” The prince appeared frustrated that Jee hadn’t immediately understood his meaning. 

“Of course, sir. Right this way,” Jee said stiffly, leading the way to the navigation room. 

Their relationship did not improve after the first meeting. Nor did the prince make a good impression with anyone else on the _Wani_. 

He was, quite frankly, a brat. He was every inch the barely-teenage boy: loud, disrespectful, headstrong. He ordered the crew around like they weren’t really people, expecting them to work tirelessly and without complaint for as long as he wanted. He offered no gratitude for their hard work, nor explanations for their ridiculous quest. 

It got old quickly. 

Not the most patient or undyingly loyal to begin with, the crew fast grew displeased with the prince’s behavior. It rankled to be under the thumb of a boy not even old enough to grow peach fuzz on his face. 

But General Iroh’s presence and efforts went a long way to smooth things over. He handed out apologies on behalf of the prince, softened his nephew’s words, and (in the worst cases) stood as an authority figure that none dared cross. 

Eventually, the ship reached an equilibrium. The crew members settled into working with new crewmates, and the royalty seemed to settle into life on a ship. Prince Zuko’s open wound began to scar over, presumably reducing the pain somewhat. Not that anyone said anything to him about it. The ship’s doctor was the only one besides General Iroh who would discuss it with the prince, and sadly the medic wasn’t much of a gossip.

The ship was still in the dark on _why_ they were escorting Prince Zuko around the globe—let alone why they were hunting the legendary, long-gone Avatar—but the sailors didn’t care that much for the details, anyway. It was no great glory to them, just a living.

Thus more or less content (or perhaps just resigned) to sail around according to the prince’s shouted directions, the ship’s crew was not prepared for the shift in the prince’s behavior a few weeks later. 


	2. Chapter 2

It never seemed to happen when you were ready for it. It was only when you were totally engrossed in your work, or, conversely, daydreaming. That’s when the prince would arrive. Half the time, he startled you when he approached, suddenly appearing behind you without a sound. The rest of the time, you saw him coming from a mile away, barreling towards you like an oncoming tsunami. You would brace yourself. (It wouldn’t help.) 

“Show me,” he would say. Typically without much clarification, as though it was beneath him to explain himself. (Or perhaps as though he didn’t really know how to talk to people.) He would tap his foot impatiently at any hesitation, glaring up at you. You would try too hard to avoid looking at the scar splashed across his face, focusing your gaze instead on his childishly crossed arms or bare head; you would try even harder to explain your current task _not_ as though to a young sibling, but to a superior officer. 

He wouldn’t leave until he had gotten a satisfactory explanation for whatever it was that you were doing, whether it was as simple as tying a knot or as painstaking as balancing the books. Usually he insisted on trying it _and_ demanding _honest_ feedback. 

It absolutely baffled the crew at first. This new habit of his became quite the popular topic of conversation—mostly because there was hardly anything interesting to talk about, but also because the soldiers loved to talk about their superiors. It felt risky, which made it more exciting. 

It did seem like a very unusual habit for a royal, though. After the first few times, it became clear that there was no ulterior motive to the prince’s behavior. He wasn’t trying to trick or drill them; after all, most nobles wouldn’t know the sorts of things he was asking about, so it’s not like he could catch them making mistakes. 

No, the simplest explanation was just that Prince Zuko wanted to learn. He wanted to know how the ship worked; he wanted to know how to navigate by the stars; he wanted to know how the firebending sailors used their skills for everyday chores. He wanted to know _everything_. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lieutenant Jee gives an impromptu lesson on navigation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're looking at the first three chapters and hoping I'll continue posting one every day, well, I have to burst your bubble there. I already had most of these three chapters written when I posted chapter one. And -- surprise! I have no plan for the rest of the fic. My bad.

“Show me,” he had demanded of Lieutenant Jee two months in. Jee had looked up from his maps in confusion at the sudden interruption. Why did that phrase sound familiar coming from that voice? Ah. Prince Zuko had somehow entered the navigation room without a sound and—naturally—rather than a greeting, had chosen to announce his presence the same way he had during their initial meeting. 

Jee quickly looked away again to avoid staring. He was still not used to seeing the prince’s fresh, shiny scar up close. If across the room could be considered close. Why was the prince hovering in the doorway? 

“Sir?” Jee responded, unintentionally reenacting their first words ever exchanged. 

The prince gestured towards the maps arrayed across the table. “Show me what you’re looking at.” 

Jee waited briefly for clarification, but receiving none, he fumbled for a broad answer that wouldn’t frustrate the prince. _Don’t say “maps,” don’t say “maps…”  
_

“I’m confirming the best route to the next harbor, sir. We are in need of restocking our food supplies.” 

“How do you find the best route?” Prince Zuko demanded. He didn’t ever seem to ask anything in any other way; demands were his default. 

Jee wondered if he was being set up for a reprimand. He began to answer with careful politeness. “I follow the established Fire Nation navy pathways, sir, excepting our detours off course in search of —” 

The prince cut him off with an impatient wave of his hand. “I don’t want to hear your official audit report, I want you to _show_ me.” He worked his jaw silently for a moment, hands clenching and unclenching by his sides. Was that hesitance? He didn’t appear to know what else to ask. (Demand.) 

Realizing this, Jee decided to risk impertinence and pointed to a spot on one of the maps. “This is where we are now, sir. And this line here marks safe passage along this coast for this time of year.” He traced a line from the ship’s position to the pre-mapped route. “We just need to navigate back to this path, and then it will be predictable sailing on to this harbor here,” he explained, tapping a dot on the coastline. “…sir.” 

When the prince said nothing in response, Jee looked up to see if he had made a mistake. Prince Zuko was staring at Jee’s finger on the map; his good eye was squinting so much that it was as narrow as his scarred eye, but for once it wasn’t an _angry_ look. 

Feeling awkward in the silence, Jee pushed his luck. “Would you like to take a look, sir?” he suggested, stepping around the table a bit to offer more room before the maps. 

To his amazement, Prince Zuko made no retort, only stepping right up to the table and leaning over the map in question. He was no longer squinting as he glanced over the paper. It was as though he had forgotten to resume his usual pinched expression, and the resultant relaxed look made the thirteen-year-old look his age. From one side, anyway. “Where are we?” he asked. Actually _asked_. 

Jee vaguely wondered if they had an imposter on board. He moved his finger to the appropriate spot again. “Here, sir.” 

“How do you know?” The prince flicked his eyes up to Jee without straightening from the table. His phoenix plume was dangling over one shoulder and just brushed the edge of the map. “Show me.” A demand, but said politely enough to be called a request. 

And thus Jee began an impromptu lesson on maritime navigation. The prince left an hour, many questions, and one promise for a star navigation demonstration later. Jee felt like he had survived sailing through a ship graveyard. 

He had definitely forgotten his “sir”s more than once. He might have even interrupted the prince mid-question at one point, too entrenched in instructor mode to remember that he was _talking_ to _royalty_ , dammit. This is why Jee is captaining this dinky boat and not out furthering his career in a respectable position. 

And yet, he still _is_ in charge of this boat and not demoted or demerited for his disrespect. Odd, considering how important respect seems to be in the eyes of the young prince. 

Even though it had been an odd experience, Jee wouldn’t have brought it up with the crew—being captain meant having to at least _try_ to set an example of professionalism—but what happened in the mess the next night would change his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What does Zuko want to learn from his crew? (And what does the crew think Zuko needs to learn?)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the crew gossips and Jee just wants to eat his soup.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this while drunk and am posting it immediately, so I apologize in advance for typos, mistakes, and general oddness. Contact my liquor cabinet with complaints.

Though he would never admit it, Lieutenant Jee is occasionally grateful that he’s in charge of a ragtag crew whose sailors lack subtlety, discipline, and formality. Typically it’s an annoyance and source of constant frustration. He’s never yelled so much in his life, he’s sure. But at this moment, he appreciates the circumstances; it means he can grab a tray in the mess, hunker down on any old bench, and eat his meal in peace. _Without_ disrupting everyone else’s meal. 

Jee recalls from his younger days how quiet and uncomfortable the mess could get when a commanding officer was present. Sailors were nervous, wary of saying the wrong thing, and resorted to saying not much at all. The wrong choice of words could mean a demotion, detainment, or even worse. Meals with superiors were tense, awkward things. 

Jee believes soldiers need to be able to feel like average citizens or they’ll go stir crazy. (After a hundred years of war, the idea of “normal” people is itself mostly a dream—but Jee knows that’s how most of his sailors wish they could describe themselves. Just normal.) They need to be able to kvetch and tease and just _exist_ outside the rigid role of a Fire Nation soldier. 

Partly for that reason—and partly due to the superiority complexes that appeared to be contagious within Fire Nation command ranks—officers typically dined separately. But for Jee, on a dinky, understaffed ship like the _Wani_ , that would mean dining with the royalty. And that is not something Jee is willing to sit through three times a day, not even for his crew’s comfort. 

Probably not, anyway. Jee would do a lot for his people, rascals and layabouts alike. But luckily for him, he didn’t have to make that choice, because his people really did not seem to care whether or not he dined in the mess. He liked to think it was because they knew his character and trusted he wouldn’t punish them for standard off-duty behavior, as annoying or crude as it may be. (He _hoped_ that’s why they didn’t seem to watch their mouths around him. The alternative being that they had absolutely no respect for him as an authority figure.) 

So Jee accepted his dinner tray, pre-filled with several dishes, from the ship’s cook, and he sat down at a randomly chosen table with a sigh. His crewmen’s conversations washed over him as he dug into his rice. It felt good to be just another sailor. 

“No, I swear, it’s true!” 

Jee vaguely registered a raised voice but managed to ignore it as he switched his attention to his soup. Hmm, not quite hot enough. He held the bowl in his hands and heated it gently. 

“You’re so full of shit, Chen.” 

Jee took a cautious sip. Mm, perfect. He focused on the salty, spicy flavor of the now steaming soup. 

“It was really him! I swear!” The voice was getting louder, more obstinate. This annoyed Jee, who wanted to eat in peace, not break up a fight or quash impending mutiny. He reluctantly started to pay a little less attention to his soup and a little more to the room around him. 

“You’re saying royalty—Prince _Zuko_ —asked you how the boilers work.” 

Jee recognized the skeptical voice as belonging to Sergeant Miho. Unflappable and highly capable, Miho had enough common sense for Jee to trust her judgement. But—what was it Private Chen was saying about Prince Zuko? 

“Yes! That’s what I’m saying! I know it sounds crazy…” 

Another voice chimed in from across the mess. “Better lay off the sake, Chen!” 

“Don’t give me that!” Chen snapped back. “You know I’ve been sober for two years!” 

Jee’s tired brain began to realize this conversation was reaching the entire mess _and_ involved the prince. The short-tempered, antsy prince. Who was on board. Who could, theoretically, execute any one of them just for disrespect. Soup all but forgotten, Jee casually pivoted just a bit to eye Chen’s table. It was Chen, Miho, Bei, and Wu seated together. Only one of whom he trusted to keep their mouth shut when it mattered. 

A new voice drawled from another table, other conversations having died out in favor of this more interesting one: “You expect us to believe that our _dear_ Prince Zuko—” 

_That’s some seriously bitter sarcasm, better keep an eye on that_ , Jee thought. 

“— _found_ the boiler room, first of all,” the voice, belonging to Corporal Saito, continued. “And then he wanted to know _how it worked?_ ” 

“Yes! That’s what I’m saying!” Chen nearly shrieked. 

Half the mess was grinning and chuckling at this point, entertained by Chen’s public embarrassment. A few more sailors threw out jeers or shared amused comments with their own tables. 

“Chen,” Jee said. 

The mess quieted immediately. 

Jee would later be simultaneously gratified and worried by this. The crew clearly paid closer attention to him in the mess than he had believed. The fact that they proceeded to complain and gossip and chat regardless of his presence was a good sign to Jee. He didn’t want them to be afraid of him. But that they nevertheless registered his presence to such a sensitive extent… Were they faking their casual conversations? Was he intruding upon their officer-less meal time? He would have to think on this later. 

“What happened with the prince?” Jee asked Chen in the new silence. If it was a fake story, Chen would likely back down from the challenge. If it was true, well, Jee wanted to hear it. He was still digesting the odd experience he himself had had with the prince the night before in the navigation room. 

Chen looked nervous to be the center of attention of several shifts’ worth of sailors plus his captain, but to his credit, he did not back down. He straightened his back and looked directly at Jee as he answered. "It happened this afternoon, sir. I was on duty in the boiler room. The door opened, and Prince Zuko walked in.” 

Jee held Chen’s gaze seriously but as neutrally as he could manage. He always struggled against the typical Fire Nation officer tactic of intimidating information out of inferiors. He apparently did well enough, because Private Chen continued without reservation. 

“He just looked at us at first—” which Jee interpreted to mean “he glared at us,” — “and told us to go back to work. But after a minute, he came up to me where I was adjusting the temperature of my furnace.” Chen paused, his eyes leaving Jee’s to flick around the room defiantly. 

“And then he said, ‘Show me,’” Chen said. 

“‘Show me,’”? Jee immediately asked. 

“Yessir. That’s what he said,” Chen replied, clearly anxious yet firm. 

It was an odd situation for a crown prince to be in, and Jee might not have believed the story had it not been for his own unique experience the night before. He frowned, considering. He’d been able to mostly shove the unusual interaction from his mind so far, unsure what to make of it but sure it was not something he could share publicly. But if it wasn’t just him… 

“And then?” Jee prompted. 

Chen continued the story. “Well, sir, I didn’t know what the frost he was talking about, so I… expressed my confusion.” (Read: _what?_ ) “And he said, ‘Show me what you’re doing.’ I thought I was a goner, sir! I thought he was going to order me to the brig right there, he looked so angry!” 

Jee refrained from rolling his eyes. “Proceed report, Private,” he barked. 

“Yessir,” Chen said hurriedly. “I told him I was managing one of the boilers, but he wanted details. He kept asking questions…” The private’s brow furrowed as he relived the memory. “I ended up explaining the whole thing to him, sir. What the boiler did, I mean, and what I was doing with it.” 

Jee nodded, frowning. “And then? Once you had explained?” 

“He… left, sir. I finished explaining the combustion chamber and its necessary maintenance, and he was just looking at it… and then he turned on his heel and marched right out.” 

“Sounds about right,” Jee sighed, rubbing his head. _What in Agni’s name was the prince up to?  
_

“Sir?” Chen asked. Jee then remembered that the entire mess—perhaps two thirds of the ship’s population—was listening in. 

Jee considered his options for a moment. _Could always throw Chen under the bow_ , he thought and immediately dismissed. For one, that’s not something Jee does. For another, Chen was probably telling the truth, given Jee’s navigation room encounter the night before, and in any case the rest of the crew could probably use a warning. 

“I had a similar experience last night,” Jee eventually revealed. The mess remained as silent as he had ever heard it. Gossip about royalty truly was the only thing that could fully interrupt a meal. “Prince Zuko joined me—” _ambushed me_ “—in the navigation room and requested—” _demanded_ “—the details of our current route.” 

He struggled to phrase the unusual experience without painting the prince—already heavily disliked—in a negative light. (He wasn’t sure for whose sake.) “I ended up demonstrating some basic maritime navigation principles and equations.” 

“He…” Jee looked around the room. His crew was watching him, curious and apparently reserving judgement for now. “His highness seemed interested in the details and in learning the navigation process. I am not surprised that he also wanted to know about the boilers.” 

There was quiet for a few moments as the crew digested this. 

“But sir,” Miho broke the silence, meeting Jee’s gaze with her typically stoic face. “With respect, a commander should either already understand the workings of their ship, if they had worked on one previously, or should delegate the workings to the crew regardless.” The others at her table recoiled at her audacity, but Jee saw no disrespect in her statement, given that it was said in the mess and not before the royals. 

“I agree,” he replied. He looked around the mess. All eyes were on him, and he suddenly felt very keenly the pressure of leadership. What he said next would carry a significant weight in the ship’s opinion of their ultimate commanding officer: Prince Zuko. 

He tried not to give it much thought. His people deserved truth. 

“Consider,” Jee said, barely aware of where he was going with this, “the prince’s age.” The atmosphere in the mess grew even more tense. 

“He does not have command experience, nor navy experience,” Jee said slowly, only just thinking this through as he speaks. He was distantly aware that saying this could be construed as treason. 

Jee has no children. He is a career soldier, though perhaps not a very good one, given where he has ended up. Yet, caught off guard in the mess, feeling like a normal man and not a navy lieutenant or ship’s captain, Jee could only think of what it was like to be thirteen years old. He wondered what it would be like to be thirteen and in charge of a military ship, in charge of an impossible mission, in charge of dozens of soldiers more experienced and knowledgeable than himself. 

“…Let him ask,” Jee finally said. “Give him answers to whatever questions he asks. We don’t have anything to hide here, do we?” He turned his attention back to his crew. 

“No, sir!” Chen was the first to respond. The others quickly followed his example. (Even the ones building the moonshine still in the komodo rhino hold that they think Jee doesn’t know about.) 

“And what’s the worst that could happen, anyway?” Jee continued rhetorically, as yet blissfully unaware of the extent of Prince Zuko’s insane drive and lack of self-preservation. 

“Maybe he’ll grow tired of ship business soon, and we can go back to normal. In the meantime, stay sharp and be ready to explain yourself.” This could be a decent exercise, actually, Jee mused. A sort of exam, where the stakes were not so much related to a redo as they were to a military tribunal. 

Clearly dismissed, the crew turned back to talking amongst their own tables. Jee was under no illusions that they _weren’t_ discussing Prince Zuko and the accounts from Chen and Jee, but he didn’t bother to eavesdrop. If there were issues between the crew and the prince, he’d find out soon enough. For now, he wanted to forget about being thirteen and enjoy his soup. Which was cold again, dammit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This didn't have much of a point to it, did it? Except that I like Jee and wanted to give him more development. I can write a whole chapter of Jee and the crew eating dinner and gossiping. It's fine.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> > Silence from a komodo rhino _could_ mean relaxation and lack of aggression. It _usually_ meant preparation for destroying a threat.
> 
> There's an intruder in the animal hold. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Didn't give this a final read-through after I finally finished it - let me know if there's any issues!

It’s Bei who next gets the unsettling Crown-Prince-Zuko-isn’t-acting-like-we-could-have-ever-anticipated experience.

One of Bei’s responsibilities is taking care of the komodo rhinos. He doesn’t mind the work. It’s actually kind of a nice break from the standard guard duties; staring endlessly at the sea while keeping watch makes Bei twitchy. The monotony of caring for the animals soothes Bei’s nerves, which are usually upset after spending every shift looking over his shoulder for an angry royal. The firebending crewmen typically got their tension out with sparring, and Bei had the animal hold.

At least with komodo rhinos, you know where you stand: either you’re the rhino’s friend or you’re dead. That sort of clarity is oddly reassuring to Bei. Unpredictable royalty? Not so fun.

So far he’d been able to avoid getting singled out for some one-on-one shouting. Of course, Bei’s luck had to run out at some point.

The prince arrived in the animal hold not even a full day after the… _enlightening_ stories spun by Chen and Jee in the crew’s mess. A story from the ship’s captain admittedly held a lot more weight than one from any other crewman, but Bei’s gut reaction to the tales was still incredulity. His respect for Lieutenant Jee meant he reluctantly accepted that the gist of Jee’s story was true, but Bei would remain somewhat skeptical of any recounting so ridiculous even if the Fire Lord himself had proclaimed it.

Perhaps that was a poor example, though. Bei holds no particular respect for Fire Lord Ozai, and it was a few occasions of poorly filtered opinions that had landed him on this rust bucket of a ship in the first place. (And yet, Bei doesn’t really feel sorry. He hadn’t said anything directly _against_ the Fire Lord, he’d just expressed some _confusion_ and _concerns_ over a few governmental decisions that put even _more_ pressure on Fire Nation citizens to offer up their children as _cannon fodder_.) The royal family cared little for individual people, Bei understood. That’s what their actions demonstrated.

There was some as yet vague rumor about Prince Zuko’s banishment that referenced the people as a whole, but Bei only heard tiny snatches of it in the time he was in Fire Nation port, picking up said banished prince. He certainly wasn’t about to give his leaders the benefit of the doubt by assuming they wanted the best for their lowly subjects. Probably Prince Zuko had said something stupid while parroting the current policies of sacrificing the _people_ for the good of the _nation_.

In any case, Bei was still undecided about the disgraced Crown Prince when the boy himself appeared.

Bei was mucking out a stall at the time. Just about the worst part of the job. Regardless of how much care he took, he still stunk of komodo rhino shit and sweat. On the plus side, he was feeling much more relaxed than when he’d arrived in the hold. Prince Zuko had been particularly shouty today, and Bei’s anxiety had gone through the roof.

“Komodo rhinos won’t yell at you,” he huffed to himself. “They’ll _kill_ you, sure, but they won’t _yell_.”

As if to be contrary, a short series of complaints trumpeted from the far end of the hold. That’d be Daisy, less than pleased with her temporary location tied to a bollard in the open.

“Shut your hole, Daisy!” Bei grumped loudly. “I’ll be done soon, and then you can come back into your nice, clean stall. Much as you’ll appreciate it, I’m sure.”

He received no answer. This was actually more surprising than you’d expect from an animal hold; though Bei didn’t quite believe the komodo rhinos could hold actual conversations, he did enjoy talking to them, and they seemed to enjoy “talking” back. Daisy wasn’t the most talkative of them, though. Maybe she had quietly come to terms with her temporary relocation?

_Yeah, right_ , Bei thought, rolling his eyes. As tough as they were, komodo rhinos were ridiculously fussy with their living situations. He leaned his shovel against the wall of Daisy’s stall, wiped his sweaty hands against his trousers, and turned to see what Daisy was up to.

Bei froze.

Daisy had apparently quieted because of the unexpected visitor standing directly before her. The slight figure stood motionless (smart) well within reach of her long frontal horn (not smart). A quick jerk of her head would mean impalement. Silence from a komodo rhino _could_ mean relaxation and lack of aggression. It _usually_ meant preparation for destroying a threat.

Nerves singing, Bei tried to distract her. “Daisy,” he called softly. “Daisy, girl, look at me.”

Daisy obligingly glanced towards Bei, her ears remaining upright at attention on the space in front of her. _Okay, she isn’t fully committed to a charge_ , Bei thought with a small measure of relief. Daisy was only tethered to that bollard by a rope and her training. Neither would stop her if she decided not to be tethered anymore.

“Daisy…” Bei crooned. Heart pounding, he began to edge out of the stall into the main area of the hold. “Daisy, hello, keep looking at me, there’s a good girl. Let’s not murder anyone today, okay girl?” Bei let his mouth run, tone gentle. He took a quick look at the intruder. Standing still, good. They were too close. There probably wasn’t time for the person to back away from the attentive rhino, not without risking their life.

Who in Agni’s name would do something as foolhardy as this? Most crewmen avoided the hold at all times, unwilling to deal with the constant animal smell and–worse–the komodo rhinos’ tendency to attack unfamiliar people. Sure, it could be an actual intruder to the ship. Maybe Bei should be _encouraging_ the rhinos’ territorial, defensive behavior. (Speaking of, he took a quick glance around at the closed stalls. The other rhinos were paying close attention to the situation, ready to protect their own if necessary.) But it didn’t feel right to him to leave the animals to deal with uninvited visitors, friendly or not. The rhinos were _Bei’s_ responsibility. To him, that meant protecting the rhinos from stupid strangers _and_ protecting stupid strangers from the rhinos.

Bei was still a good ten paces from Daisy and the stranger when the latter spoke up for the first time.

“So your name’s Daisy, huh.” The figure said in a quiet, raspy voice. “It suits you.”

Daisy snorted, eyes focused once again on the intruder. Her pricked ears didn’t move a muscle, judgement and reaction reserved for now.

“I’m serious,” the figure—sounded like a male, Bei thought, though not a very deep voice—continued. “Daisies are apparently plain and unfit for a formal garden.” The slight man extended a hand towards Daisy, and Bei nearly fainted with the sudden increase in blood pressure. The man held his hand steady a short distance from Daisy’s frontal horn as she sniffed it delicately. “But they’re so tenacious, bright, and friendly,” the visitor said, not a tremor in his voice. “I’m told it’s a common flower, a weed, even. But I don’t see what’s wrong with a daisy.”

Bei had managed to sneak his way halfway to Daisy and the monologuing man by this point. Given that there wasn’t any blood yet, he decided to take a risk and speak up. Clearing his throat, he said, “Excuse me.”

The stranger didn’t react to his words. Nor did Daisy, beyond a slight flick of her tail. Instead, the stranger took his outstretched hand and slowly reached for Daisy’s face.

“Don’t—” Bei began urgently, throwing his own hands out uselessly. The flesh and bone of an severed hand flew past in his imagination. Komodo rhinos didn’t care for the taste of human flesh, but they had no problem tearing people apart to protect themselves or their charges.

But a moment later, there still wasn’t any blood. The hold was still unnervingly quiet. No sudden screams of pain or bellows of challenge. Several steps away, the strange, slight figure stood with his palm resting gently on Daisy’s face, just above the protrusion of her facial horn.

Bei shut his mouth with an audible click, unsure what to do to prevent this unusual situation from deteriorating into a gruesome scene. Daisy would be fine, he knew. But the idiot standing in front of her? He was standing on a razor-thin wire.

“There now,” the stranger murmured, rubbing his hand from Daisy’s horn up to her temple and back down. “What a good girl you are, huh?”

And Daisy was… she was… taking it. More than taking it. She was _pleased_ with the attention. She rubbed her head against the stranger’s outstretched hand, murderous horn bowing up and down. A throaty, happy sound rumbled in her chest.

_Holy shit_ , Bei wanted to say. But even though Daisy was—incredibly, astoundingly— _not_ mauling the unfamiliar man before her, he dared not push the precarious situation further. He reined in his language. “Ahem. Excuse me.”

The figure turned halfway, hand still on Daisy’s snout. “Ah,” it said. “Specialist Bei.”

The silence dragged out as Bei slowly registered details with a dawning horror. Shoes curled up at the ends, as opposed to the standard combat boots. Instead of standard Fire Navy armor, robes fairly simple in design, if clearly expensive in material. Better posture than most of the _Wani_ ’s crewmen. Long hair corralled into a tail, spilling down the back. No helmet. Nasty, still raw burn scar on the face.

_Oh, no._

Bei barely managed to pull himself together enough to respond.

“Sir,” he said tightly, snapping into a salute. “Your highness.”

Prince Zuko eyed him without expression. Several tense seconds went by, during which Bei dared not move. The prince frowned, then his single eyebrow rose and he said, “Oh—at ease.”

Bei let his saluting arm fall limply to his side.

Daisy licked Prince Zuko’s idle hand as the other continued stroking her face.

“Sir,” Bei said nervously. “I suggest you back away from her. I’m not sure why she hasn’t attacked you yet, but I wouldn’t push your luck.”

The prince frowned again and drew his hand away, eyeing Daisy. “Really?” he asked. “She seems pretty friendly to me.”

“She’s a komodo rhino, sir. They don’t take well to strangers.” Bei replied, dialogue on auto-pilot. He took a deliberate step back, hoping the prince would take the hint and follow suit. (He didn’t. Blast.) “It’s part of what makes them so useful on land patrols and in camp.”

“Well, I guess this one isn’t a very good guard rhino,” Prince Zuko replied, the edges of his mouth slightly turned up (not a smile, the prince never smiles). He reached out to Daisy again, this time reaching his hand _within biting range oh Agni_ and scratching under her chin. Daisy grunted, raising her head to expose more area for scratches. “Aren’t you a ferocious one,” the prince cooed, actually _cooed_ , at Daisy.

Bei pinched his own forearm. _Not dreaming._ Prince Zuko was in the animal hold baby-talking an unfamiliar komodo rhino and still had all his fingers. Finally accepting that this situation wouldn’t ever fully sink in, Bei mentally shook himself and stepped forward. He stopped at a distance that was both respectful and close enough to grab the prince by his collar if the need arose, trying not to wonder what would happen to the rhino handler on duty if Prince Zuko were mauled to death by one of his own ship’s beasts.

“Sir, is there something I can assist you with?” Bei asked. _The sooner you get what you came in here for, the sooner I can get you back_ out _of here_ , he thought.

“No.” Prince Zuko gave Daisy a gentle pat on the cheek before turning around. “Well, yes. These are land animals—how do they take being on a ship?”

“Uh, well. They seem to do fine, sir,” Bei said, confused. “They don’t get seasick or anything.”

“Don’t they get upset being penned in like this? Cold metal, no dirt, no sun?” The prince pressed, his tone accusatory. “I know _I_ wouldn’t like it.” He sent a scowl around the hold.

“We make sure to take them out for regular exercise on the deck, sir,” Bei hastened to explain. If the prince decided the animals weren’t being treated well, there would probably be a lot of yelling. “And they get exercised here in the hold every day. And it’s not metal, sir, not in their pens.” Bei gestured to the fresh bales of straw he’d placed just outside Daisy’s pen. “We line them with straw. You just have to keep the pens clean of sh… uh, keep them clean.”

Prince Zuko nodded as he listened, still frowning. Then: “Show me.”

Bei blinked. _Spirits. I owe Chen a drink_. “What would you like to see, sir?” he asked politely, armed with an understanding of what those two words meant coming from the young royal.

“The stalls. And straw. And the exercising. Do they have water? How do they get clean? Do you wash them?” The prince stumbled over his words in his haste.

“…I can give you a demonstration of the typical care for a komodo rhino, if that would suit you, sir.” Bei picked his words carefully. His habit of blurting out inappropriate comments in front of officers would not help him here.

The prince gave what would probably have been a regal nod if it weren’t for the clear eagerness softening his face. He was practically bouncing on his toes, Bei noted in bemusement. And finally, finally, the prince stepped away from Daisy.

By now Bei was nearly dizzy with relief that this unprecedented situation hadn’t gone down a bloody road. Prince Zuko had invaded Bei’s sanctuary, immediately made friends with a dangerous animal, and hadn’t yelled at all. And now he wanted a lesson on komodo rhino keeping.

_Sure, why not_ , Bei thought, fighting down a hysterical giggle. _This might as well happen._

“If you’ll come this way, sir, I was in the middle of mucking out Daisy’s stall…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> RIP Bei's blood pressure.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> > "How hard is it to throw some dried meat in with the rice? Or, or, an egg or something? An onion!” 
>> 
>> His uncle was stroking his beard by now. Not a good sign. “Hmm,” he said. “Perhaps, nephew, you might take this opportunity to learn a thing or two about cooking.”  
> 
> 
> In which Zuko complains about breakfast and Iroh makes a plan. (Part 1) 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there! I wrote this a while ago and have decided to go ahead and post it as-is as a Part 1. I hope Part 2 of this plotline will be out soon, but I anticipate being busy with some other writing for the time being. 
> 
> That's because I've decided to try something new — an [A:TLA big bang](https://atla-bigbang.tumblr.com/)! That's right, I'm committing myself to writing on a schedule. And my idea is not even really there, yet. It'll be my first time working with a beta, too. Pretty nervous! I hope it works out.

It’s not Zuko’s idea this time. As much as he’s been astounding his crew (and, privately, his uncle) with his interest in and willingness to try the everyday ship’s chores, there are some things so mundane that they don’t even occur to Zuko. Inevitable, constant things like the sun rising or dirty clothes showing up washed and folded in the dresser.

Zuko can walk down a hallway and see a crewwoman delicately adjusting some contraption in a side panel; _What’s this?_ he thinks, and he asks her.

Zuko can prowl silently around the upper deck and see a sailor knotting a rope to a loop of metal attached to part of the ship; _How does that work?_ he thinks, and he asks.

But admittedly, Zuko is not the greatest at self-reflection, at sitting still and determining the borders of his perspective and then trying to think _outside_ that perspective.

He is curious, absolutely. He has a drive to prove himself, no matter the subject, certainly. He’s even a highly creative thinker at times—usually under pressure in situations of life or death, but nevertheless.

But imagine this. You have never cleaned anything but yourself (and even then, you might have attendants). You have never had to mop up your accidental spills; you have never had to sweep up the pieces of a broken dish you dropped; you have never had to wipe the glass of a window so that it can still be looked through. You have never cleared your own dishes from the table after a meal. And you certainly have never _cooked_ the meal. It’s just how things are. That’s what you understand life to be.

If you were wise, you would realize that _other_ people have to do all these things you do not take responsibility for. You would realize that these things _are_ done at all.

But you are a child. If you had never seen or heard of a broom, would you understand that sweeping is necessary? You are a child of _royalty_ , and you have only ever known clean floors.

You are taught military history and tactics. You understand that cavalry must care for their mounts. You know that the navy maintains its ships. You know that every soldier is responsible for caring for their own armor and equipment, that if one does not bother to do so then one is left to deal with the consequences.

(Were you a little older, and were your tutors less strictly supervised by the highest power in the land, you would also know that soldiers need a break. You would understand that they are _people_ before they are _soldiers_. You would remember that providing entertainment, rest, and reasonably good food once in a while is essential to keeping your military healthy and loyal. But you are not old enough when you leave your restrictive tutelage, so you do not know how to care for your soldiers. Only how to deploy them.)

And so you know how to clean and maintain your own armor. You know how to care for your weapons, your dual dao, even though you had to sneak lessons with Master Piandao to learn how. You know five standard maneuvers for one ship defending against two of similar firepower, plus eight risky maneuvers (four of which you came up with yourself). You know how much rice you need for ten thousand troops over a month of steady marching, and how little you can get away with in a pinch.

You _don’t_ know how to _cook_ rice. You could do the math and determine how much rice is needed per person. You know there’s water involved, because of course that’s factored into your plans for routes and camps. But if it came down to it, you would be left with a pile of hard grains, a bucket of water, and no ideas. You likely wouldn’t even realize this gap in your knowledge until you ended up in exactly that situation.

Zuko certainly didn’t; his uncle realized it for him.

“Plain jook _again_?” Prince Zuko complained one morning as his breakfast was placed before him. “There’s not even any meat! Or vegetables!” He twisted his torso in search of a server to question, his lower half remaining seated neatly on a low cushion. Someone was hurriedly exiting the room, clearly intending to claim no responsibility in the meal they had presented to the two royals on ship.

“There is nothing wrong with a simple meal, Prince Zuko,” General Iroh declared in his usual slow-paced tone that always managed to sound like a proverb regardless of whether or not one was present. He brought a spoonful to his mouth and winced at the heat. “Besides, I thought you liked jook.”

Zuko glared into his steaming bowl. “It’s fine,” he said. “But this is the fourth day of it. We had some salted fish at dinner the last few nights except yesterday, but other than that, we’ve just been eating rice!” He frowned at Iroh, not noticing that the older man was employing a delicate firebending technique to draw heat out of his meal. “It’s not healthy, uncle. Just eating rice.”

“True,” Iroh agreed placidly, taking another cautious bite.

“I should say something. To… to the cook,” Zuko mused. He was mildly pleased with himself for recalling the title of the crew member in charge of food. Was that a full-time position, or were they on a rotating schedule? It didn’t take that long to make food, right?

“And what would you say?” Iroh had cooled his food enough to eat and was happily enjoying every mouthful. He was old enough and experienced enough to know the joy of a hot meal, simple or not.

“I would ask why we’re only eating rice!” Zuko pounded a fist against the table for emphasis. His hand hurt, but he pretended it didn’t.

“Prince Zuko. Why do _you_ think we’re only eating rice?”

Zuko frowned harder. He bit back his immediate response of _I don’t know!_ and tried to consider the question out of respect for his uncle. Luckily it was early morning, so he hadn’t run out of patience quite yet. He thought about how long it had been since their last supply stop, estimated their restock amount, and did some quick math (well, it was _supposed_ to be quick and simple math, but as usual it took him longer than was acceptable).

“…I guess maybe we’re low on supplies?” he eventually hazarded.

“That is likely correct,” Iroh nodded. “We missed our last resupply trip due to a rumor about the Avatar—”

“Not that _that_ went anywhere,” Zuko grumbled.

“—and we have not yet made up for that.”

Zuko considered this for half a second. “But it was just one trip! Shouldn’t the cook be able to handle a single change of plan?”

Iroh didn’t answer immediately, though he did look up from his bowl. Zuko had a bad feeling that he was digging a hole even deeper, but he continued just to fill the suddenly contemplative silence. Stopping when the going got hard (or stupid) was not a Zuko thing to do.

“I mean, how hard is it to throw some dried meat in with the rice? Or, or, an egg or something? An onion!”

His uncle was stroking his beard by now. Not a good sign. “Hmm,” he said. “Perhaps, nephew, you might take this opportunity to learn a thing or two about cooking.”

“Cooking?” Zuko parroted blankly.

“Yes!” Iroh said cheerfully. When Zuko did not answer right away, Iroh just continued to smile at him benevolently. It was usually very effective, as long as Zuko was in the mood to look.

“…what does cooking have to do with it?” Zuko asked. “I get that we don’t have a surplus of supplies, but. Shouldn’t food still. Happen.” His speech stopped and started abruptly as he struggled between saying what he expected and saying what made sense, now that he’d taken a bare second to think.

Zuko shoved his first spoonful of breakfast into his mouth.

Iroh took a sip of tea.

“I mean, it’s not like I’m expecting miracles!” Zuko said defensively, mouth full. It was hard to think and follow courtly manners at the same time.

Iroh tossed back his cup and poured himself another serving of tea.

“I _know_ there isn’t going to be,” here Zuko waved his refilled spoon illustratively, barely not making a mess, “mango pudding, or dango, or fresh salad.” He ate his spoonful sullenly. “I _do_ know that, uncle.” _By now, anyway._

“I know you do, nephew,” Iroh said placatingly. “Still, I am not so old and senile a man that I cannot remember how difficult it was getting used to army food!” He let out a chuckle and leaned in conspiratorially. “And navy food is notoriously worse!”

Zuko looked back at him, unamused. “Just because of the supply chain issue? But shouldn’t most Fire Nation ports be prepared for restocking military vessels by now? Excluding more recent colony ports, I mean.”

“Understanding a need is one thing, Prince Zuko.” Iroh sat back. “Being able to _fulfill_ that need is a totally separate thing.” He thought for a moment before brightening. “A clam’s recognition of the _need_ for cleanliness does not itself produce the pearl.”

Zuko brought his bowl to his mouth and neatly spooned in the remaining jook (he probably thought Iroh couldn’t see his eyes rolling behind the bowl). He returned the empty dish to the table before standing and replying, “You make more sense without the proverbs, uncle.” He turned to leave.

“Prince Zuko!” Iroh called. His nephew paused and glanced over his shoulder. “Please report to the galley in three hours. I believe the cook will be expecting you for an important… discussion on our current food situation.”

“You’ll talk to them for me first?” Zuko brightened and turned around to face Iroh fully. “I will be there,” he said with a slight bow.

 _The boy doesn’t know how to say thank you_ , Iroh mused to himself, watching his proud, palace-born-and-raised nephew leave.

 _But he_ wants _to say it_ anyway. 

Iroh smiled and took another sip of tea. _I had better prepare the cook_. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is Zuko going to make a fool of himself in front of the cook? Will he ever learn to cook rice? Will he be a "can burn water" sort of person, or will he take to cooking with instinctual ease, or somewhere in between? 
> 
> Tune in next time for answers... or comment with your ideas. I haven't written Part 2 yet, after all. ;)
> 
> Edit 8/12: Wow, I'm enjoying reading your answers and suggestions on Zuko's cooking skills!! Thanks for helping me brainstorm.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zuko goes to speak to the cook. 
> 
> This chapter is told from Zuko's perspective, so you know it has to be a little angsty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so... it's been a while. Sorry! 😭 The ATLA Big Bang took up a couple months of my life, and then I've had writer's block ever since. But I squeezed this chapter out in a week or two like the last bit of toothpaste in the tube, and hey, at least it's a longer one! 
> 
> Reminder that this is a sort of Part 2 following immediately after Chapter 6 (whereas the other chapters have been more episodic so far), so you may want to reread that chapter if you're a returning reader. 😊

Zuko arrives at the galley feeling unsure of himself. “I am the commanding officer,” he reminds himself impatiently under his breath. “I have every right to be here.” But he still feels awkward, standing in the empty mess staring at the galley door. What did he come here to say again?

Right: breakfast. Plain jook. Supply chains. Uh… better food? Something like that. He can figure out the exact wording on the spot.

The longer he stands here the more it’ll look like he’s a coward, so he draws himself up and pushes through the door without thinking any further.

The galley is one of the few places he hasn’t been yet on the ship. He takes it all in with interest. It’s cramped, as most spaces on the _Wani_ are, but surprisingly bright and orderly. There’s only a single aisle, lined with metal countertops and cabinets and various pieces of equipment that Zuko doesn’t recognize. At the end is a closed door.

“Hello?” Zuko calls out, then immediately curses himself. That’s not what a commanding officer sounds like. But he never found out which crewmember to expect, and he’s not about to do a full role call. What’s the protocol here? His uncertainty sparks irritation—at himself, and by extension the situation.

Before he figures out what to do next, the door at the far end swings inward and someone backs into the room. Their arms are full of three stacked boxes piled above their head, plus a single wilting cabbage wobbling precariously at the top.

Zuko darts forward just as the cabbage begins to roll. He snatches it from the air with both hands, snapping: “Careful!”

“Eh?” The person slides their boxes onto the nearest counter and turns to face him. They’re a middle-aged woman slightly taller than Zuko, with a sturdy build and black hair pulled back into a tight bun. Her left eyebrow is raised, but at the sight of Zuko the right eyebrow lifts as well. “Oh. Prince Zuko.”

Frowning at her, Zuko shoves the cabbage into her hands. “You dropped this,” he says unnecessarily. “You shouldn’t carry so much next time.”

She doesn’t bristle at all, like most of the crew seems to do when Zuko provides helpful suggestions; she just nods and says, “Maybe. It’s usually fine, though.” She turns to place the cabbage into a deep sink on the other side of the aisle. “General Iroh told me to expect you, sir. I understand you want a cooking demonstration.”

Zuko takes a step back in surprise, then clenches his fists defensively when he realizes his show of weakness. “What?” he barks extra-sharply, to save face. “No I don’t!”

Now the woman frowns. “But that’s what General Iroh…” Her lips purse, and she taps her fingers against the metal counter. “I must have misunderstood. My apologies,” she corrects herself stiffly. “How may I assist you, sir?”

Though nowhere near as adept at court politics as Azula is, Zuko is trained enough to realize Uncle’s word is on the line here. And he knows the crew respects Uncle, maybe even likes him. If Zuko were to ruin that…

“Well, it’s not that I don’t,” he begins, flailing for a grip on the situation. “I mean, I didn’t really think about—well, I was thinking about cooking, but not really a—Uncle probably meant—” Zuko forces himself to a halt, glaring down at the floor. It’s a really clean floor.

“I would appreciate a demonstration,” he eventually grinds out, ashamed at the heat he can feel reddening his cheeks. His progress towards a respectable reputation is not going well today. “Crewwoman..?”

“Cook, sir,” she responds simply, already opening the boxes on the counter.

Zuko chooses to look past her insolence in turning away from him. No one else is around to see it, anyway, and he’s always hated that rule. Ever since that time when he was seven, when, as a punishment for something he no longer remembers, Zuko had been forced to kneel stockstill for an hour under Father’s steady gaze. The hour had started over every time he fidgeted.

He shakes off the ghostly ache in his knees, shoving the memory aside. “Cook?” he echoes belatedly.

“That’s what they call me, sir.”

It’s unorthodox, but then, maybe the position of cook is a bit of an exception. Sort of like the ship’s doctor, which is a respected, important role for the specially skilled. Does cooking require special skills?

“What are you going to show me today?” Zuko asks, curiosity overcoming his confusion at the situation.

“I’m preparing lunch, sir.” Cook pulls out a sack of rice from a box. Of course.

“Are we having anything but rice?” Zuko says, unimpressed. “Or is that all you’re going to show me?”

Cook glances at him. “Do you already know how to cook rice, sir?”

He glares back and crosses his arms, refusing to answer.

Unfazed, Cook begins untying the sack. “Most of our current supply is rice, sir. We won’t run out of it anytime soon. But we’re low on fresh ingredients.” She bends down and retrieves a huge cook pot from a cabinet. “I did inform Captain Jee, sir.”

Zuko vaguely recalls Jee mentioning something about supplies the last time Zuko ordered a detour, cancelling their planned stop at a port. He decides not to mention it. He’s a prince—he doesn’t have to explain himself to a cook.

“Well, what _do_ we have?” he demands. “Because it’s not healthy for us to just eat rice all the time.”

Cook stares into her pot, eyebrows drawn together. “You’re right, sir,” she says blandly. “Unfortunately, we ran out of most vegetables and protein a couple days ago. Pretty much all that’s left is rice and the emergency rations.”

Zuko eyes the sink. “And a cabbage.”

“And a cabbage, sir.”

Zuko frowns a little more. Maybe he should have listened to Jee a little more carefully. But the lieutenant had backed down quickly when Zuko was loathe to stop for restocking—surely if the food circumstances were this bad, Jee should have been clearer?

“I’ll get a report from Lieutenant Jee on our current course,” he says decisively. “We should be close to a port by now, but I’ll make sure we’re headed there with all due speed.” Zuko nods to himself, pleased with his plan. Having a clear-cut action to take makes him feel in control of the situation again.

“In the meantime, sir, I can at least show you how I cook rice,” Cook tells him, sounding somewhat bored. “I usually make it two or three times a day, so I can practically do it in my sleep by now.”

That sounds like it was a joke, but Cook isn’t smiling, so Zuko’s not sure. He hates not being sure. “Very well, crewwoman,” he responds, falling back on formality in his awkwardness.

Cook hefts the opened sack of rice and hands it to Zuko without fanfare. She takes a step back, gesturing at the cook pot. “If you would like to do the honors,” she says, “you can pour the rice out until I say ‘when.’”

Zuko frowns down at the sack. It feels like maybe ten orfifteen pounds. “How do you get the right amount?”

“I could measure it, but I’ve done this so many times in this very pot that I don’t need to anymore.”

Something about that bothers Zuko, but he’s currently very aware that he doesn’t know enough to argue. So he just steps up to the pot—which is, irksomely, slightly too high to be convenient for his height—and tilts the sack over the rim. Grains of rice start pouring out, faster than he anticipated. Before he knows it, half the sack is in the pot.

“Woah—that’s enough!” Cook says hurriedly.

Zuko tries to stop the flow of rice, but it’s tricky with the edge of the sack flopping limply and spilling out more grains. In a panic, he yanks the sack out of the pot and rights it fully—too late. Rice scatters over the counter and across the floor. Frozen, the two of them watch as the spilled rice rolls around and rains down from the countertop.

Clutching the sack with both hands, Zuko stares down at the rice on his shoes, his mind blank for a tense moment of silence. Then the embarrassment floods in, red hot and painful. Anger follows quickly on its heels.

He looks up, already opening his mouth to say something—something scathing, something lordly, something that will make this not his fault—but his jaw just hangs open soundlessly as Cook turns away from him with a huff of laughter. She’s _laughing_ at him. Zuko’s cheeks burn. He stares, disbelieving.

Cook strides to a corner by the swinging door, her back unprotected, as though she doesn’t care that Zuko could strike out at her for this disrespect. Not that Zuko has ever struck a crew member. But he could. Other commanders would, and do, for less. The idea gives Zuko an uncomfortable feeling in his stomach.

Retrieving a broom, Cook returns and begins to sweep the mess from the floor. “It happens,” she says lightly, as though it doesn’t matter at all.

Still holding the (much lighter) sack of rice tightly, Zuko doesn’t respond, unsure what to say. He’s not supposed to make mistakes. He tries not to think about what would have happened at home if he had spilled something all over the floor. Wasting food, no less.

“We have plenty of rice,” Cook continues, as though reading his mind. She sweeps her tidy pile into a shallow pan and dumps it into a bin. For the first time, her face has softened into something that could be called a smile. “No harm done.”

Zuko just nods stiffly, not sure he really agrees but not about to argue. Carefully, he lets go of the sack with one hand to gesture at the counter. “What about that rice? Shouldn’t that get cleaned up too?”

“Eventually,” Cook agrees. “But we’re about to cook on this countertop, so we’ll probably get more things on it that will need cleaning after.”

This, Zuko understands. It’s just simple logic. “Maximizing efficiency,” he says approvingly. “Very good.”

Cook smiles at him again, for some reason, though this time her eyes crinkle with real humor. She doesn’t respond, instead returning to the task at hand. “Next step is to wash the rice,” she says, moving the pot into the sink and turning on the tap.

“Wash it?” Zuko wants to ask if rice is normally dirty, but that question sounds stupid in his head.

“To remove any leftover debris, and to improve the texture,” Cook says, absentmindedly watching the water fill up the pot. She twists the tap off and plunges her hands directly into the pot, to Zuko’s fascination. “Sometimes you want sticky, gummier rice, but for today we want to get rid of the extra starch on the outside.”

“Starch,” Zuko repeats. He surreptitiously rises to his tiptoes, trying to see what she’s doing. Her arms are moving, and there’s sloshing noises.

“I’m just moving the rice around with my hands, rubbing it against the pot. We’ll have to dump the water and refill it a few times.” Cook hefts the pot and tilts it into the sink. Water pours out, no longer clear but instead a strange, cloudy white.

“Is that the starch? The white?” Zuko asks, inching closer without realizing it.

“That’s right.” Cook rights the pot and starts the tap running again, then steps back and reaches for a towel to dry her hands. “Why don’t you do the next rinse?”

Zuko hates this part. He feels like he’s back in the training courtyard, preparing to mimic a new form after a rapidfire demonstration from his instructor. He never gets it right, unable to recall the exact foot placement, or the order of the steps, or the precise arm movements. He always messes something up, and thus begins the exhausting, painful process of learning.

But he’s pretending for Uncle’s sake that he wanted a cooking demonstration, and he can’t easily refuse to participate now. Not after he already failed at the simple task of transferring rice from one container to another.

So he grits his teeth and steps forward, shoving his sleeves up to his elbows. He braces himself for failure.

“That should be enough water,” Cook tells him. She’s only half looking, busy pulling out a wooden board and a large knife.

Zuko shuts off the tap and places his hands in the water. It’s a weird sensation, swirling the wet, hard rice through his fingers and between his palms. It’s almost nice. He waves his hands around uncertainly, waiting for the inevitable correction to his form.

It doesn’t come. Zuko keeps swishing the rice in the water, trying not to splash, watching the water grow cloudier. The rice follows his movements, whirling around in graceful arcs that are kind of nice to look at. He idly wonders if this is what waterbending feels like. Then he pretends he hadn’t thought that. The only thing he should be thinking about waterbending is how inferior it is to firebending; he knows curiosity is practically collusion.

Cook looks up from one of the other boxes after a minute. “You can drain it now. Probably do one more rinse.” Then she turns right back to whatever it is she was doing.

Unsupervised, Zuko nervously tips the pot like he’d seen Cook do, worried about spilling more rice. He can’t get all the water out—a few grains slip out into the sink when he tries—so he just hopes that’s okay and refills the pot.

The water doesn’t cloud as much this time, but the feeling against his fingers is just as nice.

“Do I dump the water out again?” he asks. Rice needs water to cook, right? All that water allocated to rice in supply plans isn’t just for rinsing, is it?

“Go ahead,” Cook says with a nod, coming back over to the sink. It makes Zuko nervous to have her watching this time, but he only loses a few grains of rice, and she doesn’t comment.

“Now we fill it with about twice as much water as there is rice.” Cook doesn’t move, watching the pot expectantly.

_Aren’t you supposed to be showing me how to do this?_ Zuko grumbles to himself. Not out loud, of course. This is kind of a weird situation, with him being her commanding officer and prince, but her being his impromptu instructor—it’s messing with his understanding of the correct protocol here. He doesn’t want to mess up Uncle’s reputation, so he has to do a good job. That probably means not yelling at Cook.

Zuko turns the tap back on and lets the pot fill with what he guesses is the right amount of water. Cook gives him a brief nod, apparently approving.

“Bring it to the stove here,” she says, pointing to the spot she wants.

Zuko hefts the pot carefully. It’s a lot heavier now, and he’s wary of the water spilling over the side. Taking small steps, he gets the pot onto the stove without any mishaps. A minuscule accomplishment, but Zuko feels a tiny flicker of pride nevertheless. This cooking thing isn’t going so terribly.

Then Cook says, “Go ahead and light the burner.”

Zuko stares at the stove, his heart sinking to his boots. His cheeks are warming again, a frustrating reaction that he hasn’t learned to suppress yet.

“How do you usually light it?” he asks, thinking quickly. Maybe she’ll show him how she does it?

She shrugs casually. “Matches. But might as well save supplies, eh?”

Zuko nods numbly. “Very practical, good,” he mumbles. Then he stares at the stove some more. With every passing second, his dread grows, until he feels like he’s suffocating in it.

Finally, Cook speaks. “Sir?”

_She hasn’t address_ _ed_ _me properly_ _for a while_ , Zuko notes distantly. He briefly considers derailing the situation with a lecture, but then, he hadn’t reprimanded her appropriately as soon as she dropped the “sir”s, so it’s sort of his fault anyway. And now he’s just stalling.

Zuko lifts a hand and switches his gaze to his fingertips. It only needs to be a small flame. Tiny. Barely more than the warmth of sunshine or a tea cup. He can do that. He just has to draw the fire out and hold it steady. Keep it burning, but keep it from burning anything. Or anyone. Is it getting darker in here?

“Prince Zuko?”

A book of matches is shoved under his nose, barely visible through the dark spots in his vision. Zuko grabs it reflexively. He realizes he’s holding his breath, and he gulps in a few deep breaths in an attempt to steady himself.

Cook says nothing, just waits while Zuko fumbles to open the matchbook. She’s staring at his face, he can tell. Staring at his scar. Still painful and ugly and shameful.

He ignores her and pulls out a match with a shaky hand. A few months ago, he wouldn’t have been able to remember the last time he held a match. It would have been before his firebending manifested, years earlier.

But now, his fingers handle the match with easy familiarity, despite how strangely weak his body feels. He strikes it against the matchbook and tries to hold back his flinch when the flame flares to life.

He lights the stove quickly. Uncle keeps a small burner in his rooms for making tea, and Zuko has seen him light it many times, so he knows how stoves work. Granted, Uncle always did it with firebending. Bending so small and simple, a toddler could do it. Bending as easy as breathing.

Zuko hasn’t produced a flame since the day of his Agni Kai.

The match is still barely used up when he shakes it to extinguish the flame, but his fingertips feel like they’re burning anyway. He lets out a slow breath that blows the smoke out of his face.

There’s no way Cook doesn’t realize what’s going on. He feels utterly humiliated. How is he supposed to salvage this situation?

“What next?” he asks briskly, forcing himself to turn and meet Cook’s eyes.

Her expression, to his surprise, is unreadable. Not disgusted or amused or pitying. She doesn’t even address his ridiculous weakness, just looks back steadily and answers his question: “Now we wait for the water to boil.”

“How long will that take?” How long until he can leave and never come back?

She turns, heading back to her boxes on the counter. “A few minutes. In the meantime we can slice the cabbage and prep the seasonings.”

Zuko stays where he is, waiting for the other shoe to drop. He wishes she’d just hurry up and say her snide comment or cruel jab or fake words of concern. He’s heard it all. He heard it during that hazy, pain-filled time before he was taken to his new ship; heard it on every trip ashore since; heard it the couple of times Zhao has dropped by just to sneer behind pretty words—everyone has something to say about the scar, about his banishment. They keep finding new ways to say it, but it’s all the same in the end.

“Wash the cabbage first,” Cook calls, back turned.

That’s definitely a new way to say it. Zuko frowns, confused. When she doesn’t say anything else, he moves to the sink and starts the water. The sooner lunch is prepared, the sooner he can leave.

Cook directs him to place the washed cabbage on the wooden board. “Any experience handling a knife?”

“Yes,” Zuko says truthfully, feeling a tiny bit pleased despite his darkening mood. He’s continuously grateful for Uncle introducing him to Master Piandao years ago.

Cook raises her eyebrows. “Really?”

“Yes!” Zuko snaps, suddenly irritated.

“Alright, alright.” She holds her hands up placatingly. “You can chop the cabbage, then. Small pieces. It’s going to have to go a long way.” She picks up the knife and goes to hand it to him, then hesitates. “Okay if I show you what I mean?”

Zuko crosses his arms and nods. The implication that he can’t handle a knife is annoying, but he admittedly wouldn’t have known where to start. Weaponry, attack and defense, he knows; cabbage, not so much. He watches closely as Cook quarters it, then chops one quarter into little cubes. She hands him the knife wordlessly and steps back.

Aware of her eyes watching his every move, Zuko does his best to mimic her movements. The cabbage is harder to slice through than he expected, and more than once the knife blade slips from the waxy leaves as he bears down on the handle.

“Here,” Cook says, taking the knife back. “Hold the cabbage still with your fingers like this. It makes it harder for you to accidentally catch yourself if the knife slips.” She doesn’t sound exasperated at all, just matter-of-fact. And when Zuko tries again, moving his fingers into the unfamiliar position, she gives a nod that feels like praise.

Chopping the cabbage is kind of meditative. Slice, slice, slice, turn the cabbage, slice, slice, slice. Move the pieces aside and start again. Cook stops watching after a minute, and Zuko’s left alone with his thoughts. He works slowly but steadily, enjoying the feeling of a blade in his hand and a straightforward task to be done.

It strikes him that it should feel demeaning, preparing food for his crew’s lunch. Cooking isn’t something a commander does, let alone a prince. But Uncle apparently thought it was a good idea, and Zuko does appreciate a lot of Uncle’s advice. He just ignores most of it, is all.

No one needs to know Zuko visited the kitchens, anyway. He should remember to tell Cook not to tell anyone; the crew doesn’t need any more reasons to disrespect him.

By the time he finishes with the cabbage, the rice water has begun to boil gently. Cook reduces the flame on the stove and puts a lid on the pot. Zuko is silently glad she didn’t tell him to handle the stove again. “Now it cooks for a while longer, until the water’s gone. And that’s how you make rice.” Cook says it with a little smile for some reason.

Zuko blinks at her. “Thank you for showing me,” he says after a few beats. That sounds normal, right?

“It’s something everyone should know how to do,” she responds cheerfully, waving his words away.

“Is it?” Zuko furrows his brow, feeling on edge. “It was never part of my curriculum. The royal tutors would have taught me if it were so vital.”

Cook’s smile drops entirely, her face going blank again in a way Zuko doesn’t like. “Of course. The royal family has much more important concerns than cooking. Sir.”

“Yes,” Zuko agrees automatically, but he’s still mulling over her words, trying to figure out if he misstepped somewhere. Maybe it’s rude to say her job is less important. Even if it probably is. His tutors wouldn’t have left out anything important, not with Father testing Zuko regularly on his lessons; Zuko wouldn’t have been the only one punished if it turned out he’d missed an entire subject.

“You said something about seasonings?” he asks eventually. Standing there in silence is making him antsy.

Cook shows him the ingredients she had laid out on the opposite counter. “I make my furikake from scratch. Easier to reuse ingredients that way.”

“Smart. Efficient,” Zuko says for lack of anything better. It gets him another eyebrow raise in response. “I like furikake,” he volunteers, not sure why he’s doing so.

Cook’s face loses some of its stiffness. “Well, now you get to make your own. It tastes better that way.”

“It does?” Zuko asks, skeptical.

“Sure does.” Cook smiles. Zuko’s pleased, though he wishes he knew how he’d managed that.

Cook points out the various bags and small boxes. “Salt, seaweed, sesame, bonito flakes, sugar. We pretty much just mix it all together.”

Zuko picks up the box of salt. “How much?”

“However much feels right.”

“Do you ever measure things?” Zuko grumbles half-rhetorically. He glares at the salt as though he could intimidate it into admitting how much to use.

“Only when I’m following a recipe,” Cook says drily, tossing a handful of bonito into a bowl. “I like to cook with my heart.”

That makes no sense at all, but Zuko has the good sense not to say so out loud. Instead he just tips the box of salt—very slowly, thinking of the rice mishap—and pours some into the bowl.

“A bit more,” Cook says as she haphazardly dumps in a small amount of sugar. “And then you can crumble the seaweed.”

The dried sheets of seaweed crack easily in Zuko’s hands. He’s eaten these plain before, as snacks when he was younger. Back before Father forbade him from eating outside official mealtimes. He wants to eat one now, in a sudden rush of spite and nostalgia, but he quashes the strange mixture of emotions and continues to prepare the furikake. The seaweed doesn’t feel as nice between his hands as the wet rice did, but crushing sheet after sheet of it is still better than sitting alone in his quarters. He could get used to this.

“That’s about right,” Cook tells him eventually. She hands him a serving spoon to stir the mixture with. “We can keep this spoon in the bowl for everyone to use later. To be efficient.” She gives him another small smile. Where are those coming from? Zuko is having a hard time predicting them.

“Right,” he says awkwardly, hoping he’s giving off more confidence than he feels. “Efficient. Very good.” He casts around for something else to say. What had he originally come here for? His gaze lands on the chopped cabbage. “What do we do with that?”

“We’ll throw it in with the rice when it’s almost done.” Cook starts packing the ingredients back into the bigger boxes. “I wish I could have shown you something more exciting today.”

“But you said rice was important.”

“It is,” she agrees, “but it’s also very basic.” She pauses to eye him. “What’s your favorite thing you’ve eaten on this ship so far?”

Zuko wracks his brain, trying to figure out the right answer. Is he supposed to flatter her and say he couldn’t possibly choose? Or lie and say he’s above such trivial things as favorite foods? Should he answer as a captain, or a prince, or a student?

A quiet laugh interrupts his thoughts. “It’s not a trick question,” Cook says lightly.

Zuko frowns at her. Every question is a trick question. But he’ll go along with it this time and just answer at face value. “The grilled fish that one time with the fire flakes.”

“Ah, that was a good one. Pretty easy, too, though you do have to clean the fish. I can show you how to make that once we have the ingredients.”

“Why?” Zuko blurts thoughtlessly.

She doesn’t bristle at the challenge, though, just gives another unbothered shrug. “If you’re interested. You don’t need to learn how, but cooking can be fun.”

“Fun,” he echoes, curious.

“Yep.” Cook finishes closing up the boxes and starts stacking them. “Trying out new flavors, experimenting with ingredients. Making something good for people to eat.”

“I see.” He doesn’t, really. All he’s done today is make rice and mix some ingredients, following Cook’s directions. But then he thinks about his crew sitting down to eat their lunch, a lunch he had a direct hand in producing, and a strangely satisfied feeling unfurls in his chest.

What would it be like to make something more complicated? To see Uncle’s face light up when Zuko presents him with one of his favorite sweet treats made by Zuko’s own hands? Maybe it could be a little bit fun. It almost makes him want to smile back at Cook.

“Of course, I wouldn’t be able to show you the firebending techniques,” Cook continues blithely. She’s fiddling with one of the boxes, adjusting the lid unnecessarily.

Zuko stiffens instantly. He sucks in a quiet breath as his heart starts to beat faster. He should have known this was coming. He _did_ know it was coming, but then he got distracted by the cooking and forgot to brace himself. Of course she wouldn’t ignore his embarrassment, his greatest shame.

“There’s some pretty great things you can do with firebending in the kitchen.” Cook hefts the boxes into her arms, not looking at him. Zuko clenches his fists as she continues to speak, so offhandedly that it has to be fake. She must know every word is hitting home.

“Temperature control, of course, but also searing, flambéing… sugar work, even. I’ve been told it’s a nice way to hone your bending, get really in touch with it.”

Bending that he has lost. Bending that continues to evade him, despite his desperate attempts to regain his control over fire, even as he flinches still at every lantern and candle that comes too close. Bending that he should have, must have, can’t be truly respected royalty without. And she’s laughing at him.

Cook finally turns back to him, trying to shift the boxes off-center so she can see around them. "Maybe it could help—" She breaks off when their gazes meet. Her eyebrows lower and the corners of her mouth draw down. “What—”

Zuko can’t stand it any longer. He decisively casts off the role of student and wraps his princely status around him like armor. “Very amusing,” he sneers at her, fiercely glad that his voice comes out strong and cold. “I think you’ve shown me enough, don’t you?”

“Prince Zuko—” Cook begins.

Trembling with anger and sick with shame, Zuko talks over her loudly. “That will be all, crewwoman.” He lifts his chin and tries to glare her down. “There will be no mention of today’s events to any other crew members. Am I understood?”

Cook shifts her weight, moving the boxes to her other hip. “Well, I—”

“ _Am I understood?_ ”

She stares at him, eyes wide. He refuses to look away.

“Yes, sir.” Her reply is perfectly appropriate. Quiet, respectful, obedient. So why doesn’t he feel better?

“Good,” Zuko says shortly. With that, he spins on his heel and stalks out of the galley. If Cook says anything else, he doesn’t hear it.

He walks with his back ramrod straight and his knuckles white, face hot and tight. He doesn’t stop until the door to his room is slammed closed and locked. His eyes fall to the sole lit lantern flickering dimly in one corner.

Then he can’t hold in the whirlwind of emotions any longer. He lets out a wordless yell and throws a punch in the air, his anger growing when no fire emerges. He punches again, wildly, his forms abandoned. And again, and again, screaming out his frustration until his throat feels raw. The room stays dark.

Breathing hard, Zuko stares down at his hands. There’s a fleck of seaweed stuck to one of his palms. He scrapes it off roughly, rubbing his hand on his pants until the skin is red.

He hadn’t even finished making the rice.

Zuko crawls into his bed, curling up facing the wall. He lets his mind go blank, drifting aimlessly in his consciousness. The lantern casts shadows that move gently before his eyes. He watches quietly and thinks of nothing at all.

He doesn’t answer the door when Uncle tries to bring him lunch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't think this went in the direction anyone anticipated (or wanted). Sorry again?


End file.
